


Don't need no butterflies (you give me the whole damn zoo)

by Tohje



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, M/M, attempt at lightheartedness, dumbass masters, here have a rarepair, in which the writer references to numerous bubbly pop songs for her own amusement, made up jedi culture, master/padawan relationships (somewhere in the future at least), relatively? angst free?, senior padawan shenanigans, strictly come dancing: jedi culture edition, there's never enough femslash, tournament fic? how nostalgic can this shit get?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tohje/pseuds/Tohje
Summary: Under these circumstances, the Twosome Tournament (held every three years just to unhinge its name) approaches, and two masters meet on a common problem solving ground.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Siri Tachi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Siri Tachi/Adi Gallia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Don't need no butterflies (you give me the whole damn zoo)

**Author's Note:**

> This one is *old.* I was feeling that it's also a bit outdated, but then I was assured people would enjoy it anyway.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> We'll see. We'll definitely see...something. 
> 
> wathgwen did a tremendous betaing job, back in the day, and antheia added the finishing touches. Thank you!

The song took Coruscant by surprise, as these things tend to do when they are planned carefully enough in the marketing department, and the team at Holistic Wave was stellar at their job. The young starlet was a perfect combination of innocence and sensuality, half Zeltron, and the double release embraced that dualism. The first part was called _Luminous Love,_ the second _Velvety Darkness_ , and you could hear the scoffing originating from the Temple from the Outer Rim.

Still, it was kriffing catchy. And absolutely everywhere. 

You couldn’t find a station that didn’t play the double record several times a day when you were stuck in Coruscant’s endless traffic jams, either on the planet or in orbit. The starlet became the Guest in Demand for all the Holonet talk shows which aimed to be taken seriously. Several, very-loosely-based-on-true-events Jedi adventure dramas were rumored to be competing of the theme music rights for the upcoming season.

Inside the Temple, the rumours circled that actual masters had been caught humming the tune on their way to the lecture halls. A senior padawan flash mob was interrupted right before it hit the second part, and participants were severely disciplined (and instantly gained hero worshippers). 

Under these circumstances, the Twosome Tournament (held every three years just to unhinge its name) approached, and two masters met on a common problem solving ground.

***

“I understand you and your padawan’s training bond is currently under the same strain as me and mine?” Adi Gallia inquired, her smile lopsided. 

Qui-Gon folded his hands into his spacious sleeves. “It was the reason I suggested this meeting here. Would you walk with me?” 

They weren’t meeting inside the Temple, but at a Coruscant rarity: a tiny public park, fitting for scheming behind one’s padawan’s back. The park had a distinctly shabby air of an area that several construction companies were drooling over. The sunlight necessary for the few withering greens was conveyed by huge, graffitied mirrors. The tall pair, especially the noble Tholothian, drew gazes.

“I suppose it was inevitable,” Adi sighed. “These things tend to happen when a master - padawan pair has spent enough years together, especially after long rotations. Siri and I… the last eight months on the Rim were rough.”

Qui-Gon found himself nodding in agreement. “We were undercover for five and a half. Slave trafficking. It was hard on him. He has not yet accepted the injustices the Republic chooses to mostly just overlook.”

Adi couldn’t help but notice how the famous maverick’s features softened when he described his right-minded student. She hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s hope he remains that way. Our Order could use a little more heart, and your Obi-Wan’s got it in spades.”

The human Jedi master shook himself, just a little. “See, Adi, there lies the problem. He’s not to be called mine in any capacity, no matter how much I… in any case, he’s young and popular, his heart is vast, and it’s better if he just gets it out of his system. I know I’m not the best assessor when it comes to feminine charm, but even I am familiar enough with the Temple gossip to know that your padawan is one of the most worthy of pursuing.”

“Oh, she’s more of a hunter, Siri. She has known her own mind since her early teens,” Adi hummed, careful not to let any jealousy color her voice. 

“So we are in agreement, then?” 

“I let my padawan know this afternoon. They can start training this evening if one of the private salles is available.”

***

Siri Tachi marched down the corridor with a thunderous look on her face, and the few junior padawans who happened to be in her way knew better and dissolved to the shadows. Of all eccentric, infuriating, impossible things her master had saddled her with during their years together, this was the most irritating one in a long, long while. She hit the control panel of training salle 219 with a little more force than necessary. 

Kenobi was already there. Trust the bastard to be ahead of their appointed time. 

Siri stopped and regarded the young man lying on his back in the middle of tatam, his eyes closed. Since they’d both reached senior status, they hadn’t had much of a chance to dwell at the Temple at the same time, and their one-time rivalry had somewhat dried up. She hadn’t seen Kenobi in… Force, was it really two years or more? The other padawan was still scrawny, but his body spoke of wiry, lithe strength, and the freckles on his nose told Siri he had spent some time in a sunnier climate.

“Your manners are still dreadful as ever. Stop ogling me, Tachi,” Kenobi drawled without opening his eyes.

“And your music taste is still horrendous, Kenobi. What are you, some Neti reminiscing about the good old times?” she shot back. Kenobi sighed and waved his hand, and the old-fashioned music quieted down through the salle’s audio system. Siri groaned and dropped herself next to Kenobi on the mat.

“I take it your master has demanded of you the same thing as mine?” Kenobi asked, radiating tiredness despite his immaculate shielding. They must have returned to Coruscant only recently. It was late, but not that late. 

“Demanded, yes, and explained nothing,” Siri huffed. Kenobi opened his eyes and frowned. “That doesn’t sound like master Gallia.”

“Did your precious master Jinn explain to _you_ why this is a good idea? Me and my master, we have been in the top five of the tournaments every year we’ve been able to participate. I don’t understand why she thinks this is--” Siri cut off. She may be quarreling with her master over the issue, but it was, ultimately, a private matter. Not that she didn’t trust Kenobi, for the fellow senior surely considered himself above such worldly things as gossiping, but in the Temple, the walls had keen ears.

The aforementioned prude had the nerve to smirk at her. “We have been at the top three every time we could participate… And no. He didn’t,” he added reluctantly.

“Both of us must have done something to send our masters into hissy fits, then. If they think I’m going to go meekly, they are sorely mistaken. We will honor their teachings in a manner they haven’t even dreamed of, Kenobi. The judges won’t know what hit them. Put the music on, we should warm up.” Siri was on her feet with one smooth move. 

“You’re aware, Tachi, that there are actually several master-master pairs participating this year? I don’t think we stand a chance,” Kenobi muttered from the floor, but obligingly turned the loudspeakers back on. The first bars of Luminous Love filled 219’s air, and Kenobi growled as he twisted himself up. “We have been home for two days, and that wretched jingle has already become stale.”

But Siri, having actually listened to the lyrics once or twice, squinted her eyes and hopped out of Kenobi’s reach. “No way,” she hissed. “No way. She _wouldn’t._ ”

Kenobi raised his ridiculously groomed-looking eyebrow.

“You know how, in certain circles at least, you’re considered quite a… uhm, catch, Kenobi. Not that I would understand, but hey, to each gundark their own,” Siri started, still seething internally, and had the satisfaction of seeing Kenobi fight down a blush.

“I don’t pay attention to that gabble,” he informed her rigidly. 

“Your loss. Anyhow, _in certain circles_ , I might have gained a reputation of my own,” Siri confessed, holding her chin up high. 

Kenobi seemed to survive from his embarrassment fairly well. He let his eyes wander deliberately down, and then back up, and oh, he was so going to pay for that once they got practise staffs in their hands. 

“I actually believe you. I don’t pay attention, but I’m not deaf. Or blind.” His voice was surprisingly honest and eager. Siri held her chin even higher. That had been easy enough, but the next part…but the gundarks could ravish her before she would let Kenobi, or _anybody,_ make her feel inadequate because of this. It was too precious, too radiant. 

“What you haven’t heard, in all likelihood, is that none of that really matters. Because the one I truly feel for would never return my feelings. And now she has deliberately set you on my way. Like I would be… undermined by you, or you would make me see my erratic ways. Well, she is wrong. Kenobi, I actually feel sorry for you. You have been used as bait. Master Jinn must be deeply in debt to my master or something.”

A myriad of feelings flashed across the other senior’s face, too fast for Siri to read.

“But he… he knows, he must know that this isn’t some… some fancy or --- or padawan’s crush! What is he _thinking_?” Kenobi exclaimed.

They stared at each other.

_“_ _I wanna wake up with you all in tangles, oh_ _,”_ announced the dreamy voice from the loudspeakers.

Kenobi used colorful expletives in Mandalorian. Siri felt oddly proud, like a runt of the litter was suddenly showing some unexpected spirit.

“Lead the way, Tachi. We have got something to _prove,_ ” Kenobi snarled, and poor master Jinn if Siri still recognized that glint in Kenobi's eyes.

“This demands careful plotting,” Siri stated with a vindictive air not so fitting for a Jedi padawan. Screw their arrogant, willfully blind masters twice over.

***

“I trust that you and padawan Kenobi found an understanding this evening?”

“Oh yes, master. We are on the same holo page, totally.”

“I’m pleased. This will do you a world of good. Me and master Jinn don’t expect anything this year, but it’s good for you to start collaborating with the other Jedi besides me.”

“I understand, master.”

Adi felt a tiny, fluttering warning somewhere in her chest, but when she turned, her padawan wasn’t even paying complete attention to the conversation, yawning and emanating tiredness. No cocky, challenging grin anywhere, no ironic lift of the brow. She chose to ignore the vague itch.

***

“I trust that you and padawan Tachi didn’t bite each other’s heads off this evening?”

“Master!” An indignant rattle from the kitchen. “I’m completely capable of working with her.” 

“I happen to remember how not so many years ago you two couldn’t even step to the same room without challenges and teenage hormones flying over our heads.”

“You should know I’m way past that!”

“Good to hear, padawan. Teenage heartbreak is no fun for anybody. This will benefit the both of you. It’s about time for your group mission training to start. Not that master Gallia and I are expecting anything stellar, just solid results.”

“We might surprise you yet, master.”

Qui-Gon frowned. His padawan and Adi’s Siri were both highly competitive, although Obi-Wan’s feelings turned easily inward, manifesting in harsh demands and nigh-impossible expectations towards the padawan himself. It would do no good for the… other goals he and Adi had settled for this match.

They needed to have a closer look.

***

“This isn’t working.” 

It spoke volumes about the situation that Kenobi didn’t argue with her immediately, but merely stepped back, shut off the low-powered practise saber and wiped the sweat from his brow. 

“We wanted to add some complexity to the rhythm, so the emphasis is now on the third, sixth and tenth notes instead of the song’s basic four-four. I _get_ it, I just need some time to adjust. Next time I get it right,” Kenobi said, eager to please as always.

Siri scoffed and swung her braid over her shoulder. “That’s not the core of the problem. I’m not feeling it.”

“Feeling it?”

“Yeah. Our fighting must of course be excellent enough that the jury will let us to the next round. We will manage that part, I’m good enough and you… you will get there, I’m sure.”

“Thanks for the voice of confidence.”

“It actually was, Kenobi. I don’t know any other from our clan I’d be willing to even try this with.”

“... Okay. Alright. Then what is the problem?”

“I’m not. Feeling it. You know.”

“No, I don’t. Cut the evasion Tachi, it’s not a good look on you.”

Siri resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If senior padawan Kenobi was any more innocent, there wouldn’t be a need for newborn tookas in the Galaxy. 

“Oh, for Force’s sake. This tournament is all about the creative fighting, but we are trying something completely different here. We are trying to send a message. That’s why we need your Bant and my Sären, our masters need to be seated very carefully for this choreography to work.”

“We have been through all this already, I still don’t see what -”

“Desire, Kenobi!” she snapped. “Good, old-fashioned lust. Attraction, romance, that ancient tempter with eternal mischief shining in her cruel smile. This is a battle choreo for a lover - and a brilliant one at that, if I say so myself -, for an _absent_ lover nonetheless, not to the one in our arms, who is a mere substitute and by the Force they are gonna feel that and see that, while all the others just see a clever trick with the recent number one pop hit.” 

It was adorable, really, how Kenobi blushed all the way to his auricles.

“But - but you’re not _him_ ,” he blurted, and some impulses were impossible even for a Jedi to resist. Siri’s eye roll was magnificent. 

“The whole Galaxy knows you’re supposed to be a mind trick wizard, Kenobi. Ever heard of the perks of imagination and Jedi eidetic memory? Ew, please don’t answer that, I don’t want to act weird next time I run into master Jinn. Just...close your eyes and concentrate, for a while, and I’m going to do the same, and we see where it takes us.” 

Kenobi was nodding, somewhat chastited and still blushing. Siri suppressed a sigh, letting herself down into a cross-legged meditation pose. She knew she was being unfair; like her, Kenobi must have spent countless hours coming to terms with those very same feelings, and dragging them into the daylight like this was far from easy for her, not to mention the much more reserved Kenobi. 

She had been content, from her first declaration of her feelings three years ago at the tender age of twenty, to wait for her Trials and knighthood, since her master had gently but firmly refused even to discuss the matter before that. But now, oh, _now_ Adi had apparently grown worried, and had started to _meddle._ Siri wasn’t sure if master Yoda was rubbing off on her at long last, or if they had spent too much time - their latest, exhausting Outer Rim mission aside - in Coruscant’s scheming diplomatic circles, where her master was at supreme ease, unlike Siri herself. 

She wondered if Kenobi had had the same conversation with master Jinn, and what had been the outcome. 

Desire and attraction then, okay. 

There were two wonderful, dark blue patches that appeared on her master’s dark skin over her collarbones whenever she was excited or passionate about something. Adi being a revered and respected master, the appearances were few and far between, and Siri cherished every single one of them in her memory. She desperately wanted to taste and bite and soothe those marks.

Her master was full of contradictions that still somehow worked seamlessly together: her ironclad will was veiled in a sensual, velvety glove of natural and honed understanding of politics and diplomacy. She mingled with Coruscant high society with effortless ease and dignity (and her wardrobe for those occasions was slowly but surely driving Siri to an early grave of sexual frustration). Yet, the most purposeful Siri had ever seen her, had been on humanitarian missions, in spite of the fact they were full of trauma, sorrow, war-torn families, refugees, inadequate facilities and resources and endless, endless mud. 

Her master used to sneak out after dark in those missions, after making sure Siri was tucked in safely, and she usually ended in medical tents (or huts, temporary shelters, or, in one memorable occasion, sewers), singing to the patients. The gentle suggestion colored her alto, easing the suffering of those in persistent pain and comforting those who were starting on their last path leading to the ever-waiting embrace of the Force.

She never used Force suggestion anywhere else. 

She was willful, prone to sarcasm as a defensive, regularly butted heads with Cin Drallig over her developing a hybrid blend of _shien_ and _djem so_ within the last three years. She was so radiant in the Force that sometimes it still hurt Siri’s eyes. The headdress caused terrible headaches when she wore it for hours in highly formal celebrations, leaving it to Siri to remove it and massage her tense neck and shoulders when night turned into an early dawn.

She always let her head fall forward, her chin touching her sternum, and thanked her quietly. 

This exercise was supposed to be about desire, but somehow Siri had erred, and now tenderness stuffed her throat. She opened her eyes, a caustic remark already ready on her tongue. Then she met Kenobi’s eyes and knew, for the first time in a long, long while, that it was not needed.

***

Okay, Stars, she had to give it Kenobi, whatever he had been sorting through in his own meditation, it was _working._ If master Jinn turned away from _that,_ he was a damned old fool.

***

Qui-Gon had been worrying for nothing, and turned to point it out to Adi before she had the satisfaction. 

The two masters stood quietly on the upper balcony circling and zigzagging above the smaller training rooms, hidden in the shadows, hoods raised, carefully folded in the Force. The precaution seemed unnecessary, though; the duelling padawans beneath them, braids flying, able, trained bodies vibrating and sweat glistening on their faces, were painfully oblivious to anything but each other. You could have cut the tension in the room with a vibroblade. 

Qui-Gon’s words caught in his throat when he saw the wistful look on Adi’s face. Below them, the duel had brought their students face to face, the air between them crackling as much for their crossed sabers as for something barely contained sparking between them.

His --, no, not his. Never his. Obi-Wan was a wildfire in the Force, the blazing intensity on the brink of becoming painful, let loose in a way his master had the privilege to witness only once or twice before. 

He avoided Adi’s eyes as they excused themselves, all too aware that his own face was betraying him much the same way. 

_This_ was the true reason behind their scheming. Their common betrayal of the sacred trust.

He envisioned the long night on his knees ahead of him, praying for release from the Force.

Both of them, caught in their own, private and heavily shielded maelstroms, missed the short exchange from beneath after the duel ceased.

“His loss, Kenobi.”

“Hers too, Tachi, hers too.”

***

Obi-Wan got a warning whisper in the Force merely a second before Tachi yanked him by his braid, bringing their faces together over the refectory table.

“Did you feel that?” she hissed at him, their breathing practically mingling together over their latemeals. Other padawans further at their long table whistled and threw crude remarks. Siri promptly ignored them. “Or was it just my master?”

“No,” Obi-Wan breathed back, painfully aware of what kind of scene they were creating. “They entered together. I...it’s something, alright. He already curbed it though. But to let it show in the first place...”

“Good,” Tachi actually purred, some undomesticated, small feline peeking from her eyes. “They think they’re so clever, playing us.” She raised her hand (too small, way too smooth) and slowly, deliberately, slid it alongside his cheek. 

He almost recoiled. Almost. But if their masters played, then by the little gods, he would bring to an end what they had started. 

He turned his head, very briefly, against Tachi’s palm and closed his eyes.

Wrong. So very wrong. He slammed his shields up.

The whistling intensified, and so did the laughter. 

When they parted, they found Bant and Sären staring at them with round eyes.

“Stop it, you two, you’re making Kenobi blush yet again. We already got the attention we wanted,” Tachi said, playing idly with her food.

“Remind me never to play dejarik with you again. You fight downright dirty,” Sären commented dryly, his fur settling. 

Bant was shaking her head. “I didn’t know you were seeking a career in the Opera House, Obi. That was convincing.”

“It’s a charade, that’s what it is,” Obi-Wan muttered. Siri’s face hardened. 

“I’m calling it quits the minute they do,” she said. “If not… this Tournament is already proving itself thought-provoking.”

“Is it worth it, can you tell?” Bant asked softly. Sären raised his head, his eyes sparking in interest.

Siri closed her eyes shortly and frowned. It was quite ridiculous that she managed to do even that in a generally attractive way. She sighed and opened her eyes again. 

“Impossible to say. Too public, too many brothers and sisters here. She’s way too good. That moment when they entered, she was already slightly unbalanced for some reason, or I wouldn’t have noticed a thing.”

Obi-Wan risked a side glance over at his master. Qui-Gon was the same growing-rooting-serene-things in the Force as always, his Living Force weaving itself through his shielding, making his presence strong and vivacious. Obi-Wan had lost count a long time ago how many times he had leaned on that embrace, drawing strength and warmth from its very essence. It was a privilege he cherished. It was the reason every small, perceptive being in the Galaxy, beginning from the gundark cubs and ending to the infants, unerringly gravitated toward his master like tiny, furry, sometimes sticky, sharp-toothed and poisonous satellites. 

No, definitely nothing in the Force. Qui-Gon had sat down to the master’s table, master Gallia few benches on his right, and was smiling politely at some tale the older Bothan master was narrating. But Obi-Wan had ten years with the man; there was some tension around Qui-Gon’s mouth that refused to melt despite his smile, some … tiredness? Sadness? sat on his proud, reliable shoulders. 

It could be the lingering effects of their latest, harrowing mission. It could be something else. 

It could be because of Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon had assigned this in the first place. He should have known better. He _knew_ better.

But _if_ Obi-Wan was the cause of this, he felt ashamed of his behaviour. He wasn’t Tachi, ferocious in her self-reliance, and if he had gone and truly _hurt_ his master, then Force help him, he would do anything to make it right.

Why, oh _why_ his master had gone and charged them with this mess? 

He kept his observations to himself, the conversation around him shifting to other topics. The Tournament day couldn’t come fast enough.


End file.
